Fire In The Sky
by Sir-Mercutio-McHuffer
Summary: It is early, oh so early in the Winter Soldier Program, that they learn not to activate The Asset on the Fourth of July. Companion piece to Smoke On The Water (can be read separately).
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** This is a series of snippets that follows The Asset in the same world as Smoke On The Water. Each can be read separately FOR NOW, but the timelines will eventually synch up.

Now as a warning, this is not going to be a happy fic. It's going to explore some/all of the methods Hydra used to control The Asset, and none of them are pleasant. I don't know what kind of understanding of neuroscience they had back in the 1950s so some things may be a bit historically inaccurate.

It's also going to be gruesome. May contain non-con depending on where the story takes us.

Final warning: each chapter is going to be _short_. I'm a vet student. My time is not my own. The only way I get to write is in brief bursts of 5-10 minute breaks in studying/walking dog/feeding horses.

 **Disclaimer:**

I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

* * *

They learn, very early on, not to activate The Asset on the Fourth of July. They learn just as quickly to never allow it to be activated on the Fourth of July. Or allow any mention of the Fourth of July to enter its periphery.

It is early, oh so early, in the Winter Soldier Program. They are still opening its skull to poke at its hippocampus, knife at its amygdala, and admire as they reform. It is on this day, the Fourth of July, that they have its skull open. They poke the hippocampus. They knife the amygdala.

It hears the date. One of the guards is chatty. It does not react until the surgical implements are out of its brain and then it destroys them all, gunpowder settling upon its cerebrum as each person attempts to fend it off.

It is only thanks to an electrified door that they manage to contain it. The skull is closed up. Scalp slapped back into place and stapled together. It is thrown back onto the ice.

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	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** There is a distinct absence of cute fluffy bunnies in this fic.

I'm having a bit of a play with the canonical timeline here - according to the Marvel Cinematic Verse Wiki (which I'm currently using as my research bible), Bucky is Zola's prisoner 'for many years' before being made the Winter Soldier during Zola's SHIELD era. It also says Zola was imprisoned for a year or two before being recruited by SHIELD. It also says Operation Paperclip began in 1945.

So I've decided Bucky was experimented on while Zola was (briefly) in prison and then _properly_ made the Winter Soldier by Zola et al after he was recruited to SHIELD in late 1945.

The guns are, as accurately as I can make them, what one would expect to be used in the Soviet Army in 1946.

 **Disclaimer:**

I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!

* * *

It is given a mission. It is to locate and eliminate two targets and sundry. It is deposited in thick wood one mile from the outskirts of the small town intel has identified the targets as residing in. It watches as the truck full of guards departs. It turns into the trees.

It has two Tokareva pistols and a Vintovka Mosina. Several knives.

It moves silently.

It is quick to locate the targets. There is a cottage on the outskirts that backs onto the wood. Primary target, female, brown hair, middle-aged, hangs washing out on the clothing line. Secondary target, male, pale hair and skin, middle-aged, chops wood. Sundry targets, three, running around with sticks. Small and fast.

It crouches into the underbrush. Sets up the Vintovka Mosina. It is deep in snow. It feels the cold. Its shoulder burns. It lies there.

Five clean shots. Bolt snapped in quick succession. All targets eliminated. It packs up.

A scream. Sundry target, _fourth_. Too late to set up. Sundry target stands in the middle of the yard. It pulls a Tokareva and fires. Misses. Faulty apparatus. It is cast aside. Stalks forward, pulls the second Tokareva. Misses. Faulty apparatus. It is cast aside. Stalks forward. Pulls a knife. Lashes out.

Does not miss.

Warmth pools over his fingers. Bright red. Sundry target is small, blonde, scrawny. The blood should not be flowing. It should stay inside. Fingers push at the gaping hole. The knife is thrown away. The blood should _stay inside_.

The guards drag him off the body. He shatters the face of one with his metal elbow. " _Steve!_ " he shrieks. Turns and punches the other guard in the chest. Throws himself forward, hands grasping, pulling thin shoulders to him even as his mouth expels denial. There is moisture on his cheeks and bile rising in his throat. His arms clutch the body to his.

It takes him too long to realise that this isn't Steve. Steve is thinner. Steve has blue eyes. Steve has lighter hair. Steve has a nose too big for his face. This is not Steve. _Steve_.

He is put in the Chair as soon as he is returned. It was a trial run. He failed.

It stands up. It has blood caking its fingers. It is stripped and hosed down. It is intubated via the oesophagus and given a small amount of nourishment. It sits.

It is returned to the ice.

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End file.
